Another Shade of Black
by Psychedelic Writer
Summary: A sort of AU-ish fic, which takes place during Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The main character is a witch who has been avoiding the magical world for the last decade. Something happens, and she’s forced to return.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The world of Hogwarts and its characters belong to JK Rowling and JK Rowling only. A few things are of my own fantasies, but everything you can recall having heard/read about elsewhere, is not mine.**

**Author's Note: This is my first HP fanfic, so take that into account before you feel the need to trash this story completely...**

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ANOTHER SHADE OF BLACK  
  
_Prologue_

Her first thought was purely selfish – _He is gone._

The most evil, the most powerful, the most dangerous wizard of all time was gone. She closed her eyes in relief and smiled weakly, knowing that finally, she would be able to feel at ease again.

He was gone, and gone with him where all the fears that she and everyone else of the magical community had held those past years. He was gone, and gone with him was the inability to ever feel true happiness. He was gone, and gone with him was the deepest darkness of her soul. He was gone, and gone with him was – _Oh, no!_

Thus came her second thought, which went to the two people who were the last to die of his evil power. The murdered couple. Lily and James Potter. Also gone.

She didn't cry. She didn't cry, because immense grief doesn't come with tears. Immense grief only presents endless emptiness.

Later, she would remember that nor had Remus Lupin been crying when he had told her what had happened, but that his eyes had been sore and tired and that he had had an air of... endless emptiness about him. She would remember that he had looked concerned. Concerned about her. About how she would react. Not how she would react when she learnt about the death of their friends. But when she Realised.

And that was her third thought. One of Realisation. When she understood who had caused their death. When she Realised who had betrayed them. A young animagus with blazing, grey eyes and an infectious laugh.

And then she knew that, no, she wouldn't be able to feel at ease again.

Just a couple of days later, Sirius Black, best friend and traitor of the Potters, would be captured by the ministry when murdering thirteen people, with one single curse.

Just a couple of days later, a young witch would leave the United Kingdom and its magical community, with the intention of never returning.

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	2. Leaving

**Disclaimer: I repeat the disclaimer from the prologue; the world of Hogwarts and its characters belong to JK Rowling and JK Rowling only. A few things are of my own fantasies, but everything you can recall having heard/read about elsewhere, is not mine.**

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_Chapter One – Leaving_

The city of New York is both heaven and hell in the summer.

Heaven, because the trees of Central Park are greener than ever before. Heaven, because the sky which the Statue of Liberty stretches her torch towards, is as blue as the peaceful water of the Hudson River. Heaven, because the huge sun in said sky is spreading its warmth over the city and makes the thousands of windows on the Empire State Building glisten and sparkle in the bright light.

Hell, because the weather is so god damn hot that no one is able to enjoy it anyway.

She was sitting in her apartment, reading the newspaper – the New York Times – while silently blessing whomever invented the air condition. Flipping over a page, she started reading an article about the recent train strike. She liked the New York Times. It was nice and predictable. Train strikes, traffic stand-stills, bank robberies, old ladies getting mugged, etcetera. Nothing new.

She took a small sip of her ice tea. _And the inventor of cold drinks_, she thought lazily to herself and grinned slightly, _bless his wonderful soul too._

Suddenly her train of thoughts were interrupted by a sound from the living room window. Frowning, she got up from the kitchen chair and walked towards the noise.

It sounded as if though a bird was pecking its beak against the window-pane and, assuming it was a pigeon – _do _not_ bless the inventor of pigeons_ – she prepared to tell it to do something she would never say if there were children nearby.

But it wasn't a pigeon.

It was an owl. He was very handsome – an owlish kind of handsome, that is – with auburn feathers, and he folded his wings proudly as he settled himself on the window-sill and stared urgently through the glass, with demanding dark brown eyes.

Now, as one may easily understand, having a handsome – yet again, an owlish kind of handsome – owl with demanding dark brown eyes landing himself on your window-sill is not a common sight on Manhattan, New York. It probably wouldn't be a common sight in, say, Georgetown, Washington DC either, but the location is not really the issue here, so we'll stop that debate right about now.

She stared at the handsome owl. The owl stared back and pecked the window-pane with his beak once again. It was almost as if it was telling her – in quite a determined fashion – to open the window and let him in. She continued to stare at him.

A lot of people never get to see an owl close up, and a lot of people would stare if they ever were encountered with one. Especially if the owl in question was carrying a... a letter? The incredible rarity of the situation would make anyone stare in surprise.

So was she, but for another reason than a mere "hey, 's that an owl? Cool!". She had come across many owls before – many handsome owls on window-sills – and her surprise was more of the nature of someone who is under the impression that the past is the past and if you hide from it, it will go away. The surprise of someone who has just discovered that that isn't the case. That it's never the case.

So she stared in surprise at the owl. It had, after all, been about a decade since she had seen one.

Slowly, the initial shock began to wear off, and the owl, who had started to peck his beak on the glass more and more fiercely, made her grow worried that the neighbours might wonder about the noise. Reluctantly, she opened the window and reached out for the small envelope which was carefully tied to his leg. She removed the letter and the owl, seemingly happy, stretched out his large wings and flew away over the housetops. Turning her gaze away from him, as he disappeared into the sky, she eyed the letter in her hand.

"Well", she said, more to herself than anyone. Then, with a sigh; "well...".

She cast a glance at her wrist-watch, noticing it was a quarter to two and that Daniel, her boyfriend, wouldn't come home for another couple of hours. They celebrated their first anniversary today and she knew he had booked a table at a very posh and expensive restaurant. To tell the truth, she was a bit annoyed with his grand gestures, but she did appreciate he was trying so hard, despite the fact that her bad mood made her treat him with unfairness sometimes. And he was nice. Nice and soothingly predictable. Kind of like the New York Times.

Sitting down on her couch, breathing heavily, she began to slowly unfold the envelope. Inside of it, she found a letter and a clip from a newspaper. Her heart beating tensely, she looked at the name of the newspaper, in the upper left corner of the clip. The Daily Prophet. Definitely_ not_ the New York Times.

"Well", she said again, feeling the need to say something, but not knowing what.

Her gaze fell at the picture in the middle of the newspaper clip. It was a photograph of a man with a sunken face and long hair that probably should be black, but its colour was dull and matted. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened her eyes again, and began reading the article.

_SIRIUS BLACK ESCAPES_

_On the night to today, the infamous prisoner Sirius Black managed to do what no one has ever done before; escape from the high security wizard prison of Azkaban. The magical community has already begun to fear a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black with a single curse murdered thirteen people. Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic, begs everyone to keep their calm and..._

She stopped reading, not needing to know more to understand what was happening. She turned to the letter, on the top of which her name was written in a narrow handwriting;

_Dear Castor,_

_For the last decade, I have honoured your request to be cut off from the magical world. However, something has happened and my writing to you is of urgent business. As you notice of the article from the Daily Prophet, Sirius Black has done what no one believed possible, and escaped from Azkaban. I know that you fully well understand the seriousness of the situation, and I know that you know I would not write to you unless it was important. I need your help, Castor, and young Harry Potter needs your protection. You do have a responsibility, and I urge you not to run away from it. It is time for you to face your fears. Hogwarts needs you, Castor. Come back._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Suddenly discovering that her hands were shaking, Castor made an effort to gather her thoughts, but failed miserably as memories she didn't want inside her head visited her once again.

Sirius Black.

Escaped.

She knew the story of course, everyone did. The one of a good wizard gone bad. In the great war between good and evil some twelve years ago, Black had turned out to be a spy for the most evil wizard the magical world had ever known, whose name still brought fear into the minds of everyone; Voldemort. With one single curse, Black had blown up a street full of muggles (non-wizarding people). Thirteen innocent people had died, and when the Ministry of Magic caught him, he was laughing.

But Castor also knew what very few had even heard of. That Black had betrayed his best friends, to Voldemort. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to keep the memories from flowing back. A tear forced its way through her eyelashes and trickled slowly down her cheek as she remembered that horrible autumn day, when Remus had told her that Lily and James were... dead. Murdered.

She knew that Voldemort had been after them and their one year old son, Harry. They knew it too, so they had gone into hiding. Only one person had known where they were, their best friend, Sirius Black. And he had betrayed them.

She hadn't believed it at first. Sirius, whom she had thought would die rather than forsake his friends. _Guess we weren't that close anyway, eh?_ she thought sardonically.

He had come to see her the next day. The next day! How dared he?! He had caused the death of Lily and James, and now he came to try to talk to her?! He disgusted her, and she had told him so, in no uncertain terms. He had looked at her, pleadingly. "Listen", he had said. "You've got to listen to me! It wasn't..."

She hadn't let him finish, but had disapparated the next second. Did he honestly think she was just going to stand there and listen to what he had to say? She didn't want an explanation! She didn't want to know how he had betrayed them!

The day after that, she learnt the news of the thirteen people he had murdered. But what Castor also knew, was that among those people was also Peter Pettigrew. She hadn't met him after the Potter's murder, but she had heard that he had been devastated. That he had tried to go after Sirius himself, but for no use. Peter, another one of those who were supposed to be one of his best friends. And Sirius had killed him too. Just like that.

The same day, Castor decided to leave everything that had anything to do with magic behind. She couldn't live in the magical world anymore, it was too... too difficult to cope with... everything, for various reasons, so she had left for New York, to live as a muggle. And that was where she had been for the past decade. Until now.

She looked at Dumbledore's letter. He asked for her return, and she knew well enough why. If Sirius Black was at large again, Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James, the Boy who Lived, the one who – no one knew how – had defeated Voldemort, would be in great danger. Sirius would go after him next.

_So... he wants me to "face my fears"...,_ she thought. Suddenly she stood up abruptly, clenching the letter in her fist, with a determined look on her face. Yes, she _was_ going to return. So many things had kept her away from the magical community, but now, for the first time, she felt strong enough to face those things. To overcome them.

No, she was fooling herself. She didn't feel strong enough, but nevertheless, she knew what she had to do.

Suddenly the name Daniel wandered through her mind. _Daniel!_ Her boyfriend. Her _muggle_ boyfriend. Her muggle boyfriend since a year who, to be honest, really knew nothing about her. Nor the world she came from. The world which she was going to leave him for.

Daniel was a nice man. He was a happy man. He made her forget about those little memories she had tried so hard to let go of. And now she had to leave him, knowing that there was no explanation she could possibly give him that would, in fact, explain.

She walked over to the kitchen table, grabbed a pencil, grabbed a piece of paper, and began to write...

_Dear Daniel,_

_When you see this note, I'm gone. Please know that this has nothing to do with you, and please know that if I could change anything, if I could avoid hurting you – I would. But I can't, and so I must leave. Do not ask me for an explanation, for I'm unable to give you one. Do not try to come after me, you won't be able to find me. Just know that I will be ok, and I wish with all my heart that you will be too. I urge you to forget about me as soon as possible, and to find yourself a nice girl, marry her and have lots and lots of lovely children. Have a wonderful life. Love, _

_Cassie_

She signed with her nickname, the name Daniel thought was her real one, and sighed. It was cruel to leave him like this, but there was nothing she could do.

"Very well then", she whispered. "Here goes nothing..." Then, Castor used magic for the first time in twelve years, and disapparated.

A _crack!_ was heard, and then the New York apartment was empty and quiet, save from the soft, humming noise of the air condition. And in the sky above, a handsome owl with auburn feathers was flying back to England.

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**Author's Note: Oh, and the remark about the New York Times was not intended as any form of disrespect. I did not mean to state that said newspaper is in any way predictable, nor, for that matter, nice. Forgive** **me... ;-) **

**If you'd like to comment on the story (though I am aware it's not much of a story so far), feel free to review... **


	3. Arriving

**Author's Note: I know, this update has taken a while. I'm a slow writer, one of those people who can't write anything until inspiration comes over and hit them in the head with a frying pan (or something). My apologies.**

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_Chapter Two – Arriving_

Unlike New York, the city of London is neither heaven nor hell in the summer. It's just rain. And rain. And rain.

No, that was unfair. Last summer, the sun actually did shine. I'm quite sure it happened on a Thursday.

In the part of the city which is referred to as Camden Town, a small, furnitured apartment had stood empty for some twelve years.

Suddenly, the silence was pierced by a loud, sharp sound, and a young woman appeared out of thin air. Castor, for it was her, took in the familiar surroundings and noticed that though her apartment had long been inhabited, the expected layer of dust on the furniture was conspicously absent.

_Remus_, she thought and smiled fondly. _Bless him a thousand times more than both air-condition or ice-tea._

Remus Lupin. One of her best friends by far. Actually, her best friend amongst the living. Sirius, James, Lily and Peter had, though she was two years younger than them, each been her friend too. The latter three were dead and it had been long since the other had even deserved to be as much as a casual aquaintance. Castor felt a sting of guilt and sorrow when she remembered that she hadn't even said goodbye to Remus when she left England.

Suddenly her eyes fell upon an envelope that lay on the mantelpiece. Normally, small apartments in Camden Town aren't equipped with a mantelpiece, let alone a fireplace. This one was, though. She had once been a witch, after all.

Castor unfolded the envelope and read, on the small note inside of it;

_Castor,_

_I hope you have arrived by now. Please be so kind as to meet me at the Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley in less than two hours._

Albus Dumbledore

Once returning to an old life, it is surprisingly easy to fully resume it again, and without thinking much about it, Castor apparated for the second time in less than half an hour.

She found herself at the end of Diagon Alley, a wizard street in the very centre of London, unable to spot for the muggle eye. The street was bustling with life, mostly students from Hogwarts, the wizard school of Britain, needing rather than wanting to buy their new school supplies. She strolled past the old, very picturesque, shops she knew so well, noticing that they hadn't changed much the last twelve years. Outside Flourish and Blotts, she heard a roar from inside of the bookshop, and the manager whining rather loudly; "Not one of those darn books again!" When she passed Quality Quidditch Supplies, she spotted a large crowd gazing dreamily at a truly magnificent broomstick mounted on a podium. At the Leaky Cauldron, a cosy though rather shabby pub, she finally stopped, and stepped inside.

The pub was crowded with witches and wizards, each very much different from the other. There were short, plump witches with rosy cheeks and huge handbags; intellectual looking wizards in high hats and thin moustaches; teenage wizards in multi-coloured robes and many, many more. Castor made her way through the busy room, up to the bar, behind which the old, bald barman was pouring up sherry in tiny glasses.

"Excuse me", she said to him. "I'm here to see Albus Dumbledore, do you know where..."

"In here", he answered immediately and pointed a long, gnarled finger towards a passage that led from the bar. Castor nodded her head as a "thank you", and walked in the direction of his finger, ending up in a small parlour. In the small grate placed in the corner of the room, a fire was burning, spreading a nice and friendly warmth. And in an armchair by the fire, an old man was sitting. He wore purple robes, and had a beard that would have, had he been standing up, reached almost below his knees. He wore half-moon glasses, and behind them, a couple of bright eyes were sparkling keenly.

"Castor," he said, with a friendly smile, and got up to shake her hand. "Long time, no see!"

Castor ignored his outstretched hand. "If you're planning on making me feel guilty for leaving, I'm out of here right now, Dumbledore."

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "There is no need to be hostile, Castor." He beckoned for her to sit down in an armchair opposite his.

A tired shadow suddenly swept past the witch's face. "I'm sorry", she muttered. She sat down. "I only got your first letter an hour ago and... it's a lot for me to handle, I..." She looked down at her hands.

"Quite understandable", said Dumbledore. "Do not apologise."

"So..." Castor sighed. "Is it really true? Has he escaped?" she asked her hands.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "I am afraid so. Sirius Black has indeed escaped."

Castor gave an odd little sound that sounded like a sob, but wasn't really. _Just when you think it's over, fate comes back to bite you in the arse_, she thought sardonically. "How?" she asked.

A tiny frown rested for a brief while between Dumbledore's eyebrows, disappeared, and then came back to rest there a while longer. He shook his head. "I am sorry to say that I cannot give you a sufficient answer to that question. Not because I do not want to, but because I simply do not know."

The question which really was tugging on her mind slipped out of her mouth. "Why?"

Dumbledore sighed in a way which suggested he was stalling for time to think about how he would phrase his answer.

"It would seem", he said, "that he believes it would bring Voldemort back to power if the Boy Who Lived was to be killed."

" 'The Boy Who Lived' being Harry. Lily and James's son", Castor stated bitterly. "He should be about 13 now, shouldn't he?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"And attending Hogwarts?"

He nodded again.

"You believe that Sirius wishes to murder Harry. And that's why you wanted to speak with me", analysed Castor. "You think that if I were to stay at Hogwarts, I would be able to protect him from Sirius? Isn't the school already well protected? Protected by ancient magic, magic so powerful it ought to prevent anyone to enter the castle without leave?"

"The Minister of Magic has seen fit to put Dementors to guard the grounds of the castle as long as Sirius Black is at large."

Castor nodded understandingly. "Dementors..." she mused. "The guards of Azkaban. I see... you don't trust them, do you?"

"No", was Dumbledore's single reply.

"But you trust that _I_ can protect Hogwarts?" said Castor with her eyebrows raised. She laughed. "You're awfully optimistic!"

Dumbledore hesitated. "No. But if he tries to break into the castle, we stand better protected with someone inside of it who knows him."

"I wouldn't use the verb 'know' in present tense", she said dryly. "And just because I once _knew_ Sirius doesn't mean I know the way his mind works. I barely understood the way his mind worked back in—" she made quotation marks with her fingers "—'the good old days'. What makes you think I..."

"Castor," Dumbledore interrupted her suddenly. Dumbledore seldom interrupted anyone, so Castor found it best to stop speaking, instead of continuing the rant she had in mind.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry leant forward in his chair and focused his eyes on hers, with a serious look upon his face.

"Castor, I am asking you a favour. I want you positioned at Hogwarts, at least until Sirius Black is recaptured. The teacher in Muggle Studies, Professor McMillians, is retiring next year, so she is cutting back on her work hours. She is therefore only to handle the OWL- and NEWT classes this year, and I would like for you to teach the others. This will also make you available as a supply teacher in Defense against the Dark Arts, as the professor of this year will be absent from certain lessons." He made a pause. "I wish to make it clear that I am simply _asking_ you for this favour, Castor. I am fully aware of the extent of it, but, if I may be so bold as to tell you – it is time for you to stop hiding from the wizarding world."

"I really wish I had thrown your letter away before reading it", remarked Castor. "You ask for favours in a way that makes it impossible to say no." She shifted in her chair, uncomfortable, but yet slightly more confident. "I could have thrown it away after I read it, but when I did decide to come here, you already knew what my answer would be." Grey eyes stared intently at the older man. "I want everyone, except for those who already know me, to know me by the name of Cassie Terrence. That is the name I went by in the States, and that is the name I intend to continue to go by. I agree to teach at Hogwarts, so you may consider your wish fulfilled. I'm dubious to whether it'll be of any good, but, like I said; you ask for favours in a way that makes it impossible to say no."

Albus Dumbledore smiled. "Very well." He rose from his chair. "There are a few of the staff whom you have met before, but to everyone else you shall be known as Cassie Terrence, professor of Muggle Studies and Defence against the Dark Arts." He extended his hand.

This time, she shook it.

**Author's Note: I might as well tell you that I'm not immensely fond of this chapter – a bit too much dialogue, in my opinion. But as it has taken me more than two months to finish it, I'm going to consider it, if not good, then at least good enough. I swear, I'll try to update sooner, but, like I said in the beginning of this chapter, I'm a slow writer, and as I'm not overly keen on hitting myself in the head with a frying pan, I have to wait for Inspiration to do it. Reviews are always nice though – there's nothing more wonderful than to find out that people are actually reading your story!**

**whydoyouneedtoknow: First of all; thanks for reviewing! Second of all; yes, Castor is really a male name, but I gave her that name anyway, because of various reasons. And when I thought about the character, the name sounded right in my head. The name "Castor" just popped up in my mind and I couldn't bring myself to change it. It had the right "feeling", the little "je-ne-sais-quoi"... Well, that's the best I can explain it... As for the other things you asked me... I'm sorry, but I'm not going to tell you. This story will probably be a bit weird at first, but the more you'll find out, the more you'll understand (hopefully! :) ).**


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